


Not Your High School Indie Band

by bastardoftherealm



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (technically) - Freeform, Gen, High School AU, Platonic Hand Holding, Teenage Disasters AU, Working through fears, ant on keys, bad on bass, best friend banter, comfort and fluff mostly, concept from lynnthere_donethat, go check them out i beg you!!!!!!, kids with dead end jobs, sam on drums, skeppy on vocals and guitar, so much platonic love and comfort, stage fright, starting a band, supportive friends, the badlands have a band, this fic can fit so much fluffy bad and skeppy dynamic in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastardoftherealm/pseuds/bastardoftherealm
Summary: "It was lying on a couch in Sam’s garage that Bad had the brilliant idea to start a band."The Badlands go through the trials of starting a band together, along with Bad helping Skeppy work through some of his own fears about performing in front of others.Or, the Badland's place in the TDAU
Relationships: Badlands Dynamic, Darryl Noveschosch & Zak Ahmed, Darryl Noveschosch & Zak Ahmed & Sam | Awesamdude & Antfrost, Sam | Awesamdude (Video Blogging RPF) & Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynnthere_donethat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnthere_donethat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Half-past 3, How are You?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28102971) by [lynnthere_donethat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnthere_donethat/pseuds/lynnthere_donethat). 



It was lying on a couch in Sam’s garage that Bad had the brilliant idea to start a band. 

He’d been fiddling with one Sam’s mom’s bass guitars she kept in the garage for students coming over for lessons, when he’d happened to be strumming it, having learned to play from her for years, when he struck a chord that had, for lack of a better word, resonated with him. 

Bad sat up, still keeping the bass against his chest, before beginning to strum. The sound had always been the reason he’d started playing in the first place. The beauty of the chunky chords that hummed underneath the main melody. He snatched the strings against the neck of the guitar, looking over at his friend. 

“Sam?” 

“Hmm?” Sam had disappeared behind his computer and a pile of computer science textbooks, but the tufts of his dyed green hair poked up over the top of them. “Yeah?” 

“Do you want to start a band with me?” 

Sam closed the laptop, “I mean, sure. I mean, mom’s been practically trying to get me to do it for years.” 

“Ooh, think about it,” Bad settled the guitar in his lap. “We get you, me, and Ant, he plays keyboard right?”

“Yep, came over on Sundays at three all throughout our childhood for lessons from my mom.”

Bad pulled out his phone, finding his text thread with Ant, (which had buried under the numerous group chats and such with colorful names he wished he could just block out with LANGUAGE over each), and read his message aloud to Sam. “Hey, urgent meeting of epic proportions, come over to Sam’s after work.” 

“Okay so we have a bass guitar, a drumset,” Sam gestured to the kit behind him. “Obviously, I’ve got to take Fran out for a spin eventually. And we have a tentative keyboarder. We’ll need a lead guitar and lead vocals, though.”

“Who could we get to do that...” Bad turned his head away from Sam, eyes flicking towards a particular blue guitar in the corner.

“Bad.” 

“I’m not talking to him right now.” 

“Ugh,” Sam rolled his eyes, flopping back against the couch. “You have a divorce with him like  _ three times a week _ . I’m sure he’ll apologize.” 

Bad looked back over at Sam, crossing his arms and nodding. “Yes I’m sure he will.” 

“Oh so it was your fault?” Sam pulled his head up from where he was lying against the couch. 

“No!” He dropped his voice. “Maybe…”   
“Baaad, go apologize.” Sam crossed his arms against his chest. “He would be  _ perfect _ , I should know, I hear him play almost every week, Thursdays, five to five-thirty. I know you’ve heard him sing, he’s got like the perfect voice. You know he’ll do it if you ask.” 

“Fineee,” Bad sighed, standing up from the couch. He shook the static feeling out of his legs and grabbed the keys to his beat up car, shouldering on his leather jacket, black and trimmed with red, and stuck all over with different patches that ranged from his mathletes competition last year, to some cute patches his elementary kids had made for him during their crafting hour. “I’ll be back in like an hour or something, hopefully Ant will have gotten off of his shift by then.” 

Sam gave him a little salute as he reopened his laptop. “Roger that.” 

Bad hopped into his car, driving out of Sam’s neighbourhood, and across town to the local roller skating rink and arcade that was located next to the crappy pizza joint. It was the preteen hotspot before they discovered drugs and the quarry, and daring one another to stand at the edge with their toes gripping the loose rocks. Bad was glad that he’d never been the latter, only having heard stories from friends, or being the occasional chaperone to his stoned friends. 

He parked the car in the lot, taking in a quick reassuring breath before slamming the door behind him. Bad headed inside, the neon purple interior of the ticket booth area already an assault on his eyes, aided by the very purposefully 80’s carpet. He didn’t have to wait long to get to the front of the line, despite it being later on a Friday evening, most of the attendees were more likely to be leaving at that time then arriving. Bad stepped up to the booth, shoulders falling slightly as he saw who was standing behind the booth. 

“Hey Vurb.” 

“Heyyy Bad, here to see your boyfriend?”

“He’s not-” 

“Yo SKEPPY-” Vurb cupped his hands over his mouth. “YOUR HUBBY’S HERE.” He turned back to Bad with a grin on his face, and gestured with his thumb extended towards the staff door off to the side. “You can go in through there, though I’m sure you’ve been through it  _ hundreds _ of times.” 

“You’re such a muffinhead.” Bad grumbled before heading in through the back door. Vurb wasn’t wrong, he had been here several times on occasion when picking Skeppy up to go out to eat, or just hang out in general. He peered to his left, where Vurb was taking tickets, dead ahead was the booth where people could pick up their skates, where the employees would head through the half-door that swung open and lead them to what sat to Bad’s right, the walls and walls of cubbies for roller skates. 

Skeppy was heading towards him, his face twisted up with annoyance as he held a pair of skates in his hand. “I’m going to kill him.” He brushed past Bad before he could say anything, pushing the door. Bad moved forward slowly towards the entrance, watching as Skeppy handed the skates to a kid, who thanked him before hurrying off with their friends. 

His hair was mussed, there were dark lines under his eyes, and Bad was pretty sure the light blue shirt of his uniform was on backwards, but Skeppy still gave him the slight smile that always eased the worried feeling in his stomach. “Hey-”

“Geppy I’m really sorry about yesterday.”

Skeppy’s smile grew, and Bad’s did on instinct. “I was literally going to say the same thing.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, “I was gonna text you after I got off my shift, actually, I just...didn’t have time. I’m sorry Bad.”

“It’s not your fault at all, it was totally mine, don’t worry about it.”

“So when’s the wedding?” The two of them turned to see Vurb with his hands propped up on the small counter, face in his hands with a dumb grin on his face. 

“Vurb!” Bad felt his face go warm.

“Dude! There are people in line! Do your job!” Skeppy flapped a hand at him. He let out a long groan as he turned back to Bad, “I’m off in about fifteen if you want to do something tonight.” 

“Actually I’m here about that, I’ve got quite the fun idea for you.”

A voice from around the other side of the wall called Skeppy’s name. “Oh, exciting, lemme just finish up, and I’ll meet you at your car?” 

“I’ll just hang out around the rink, we can grab some drinks before we go.” 

“Great idea.” Skeppy shot him a pair of finger guns as his name was shouted a little more forcefully. 

Bad smiled as he watched Skeppy attempt to vault the wall before deciding not to at the last minute. He headed towards the back of the room, where a secondary door would lead him out to where he could look over the main area of the roller rink. It was surprisingly packed, more so than normal when he came to loiter in the last half hour of Skeppy’s shifts. Bad found himself a table towards the back, where he checked his texts. There were a barrage of them from the Many Groupchats, along with two from Ant, a simple “👀”, and then an “I’ll be there in like twenty”. 

“Ready to go?” He looked up from his phone to see Skeppy standing behind him, a puffy black coat unzipped over his uniform, and his skateboard under his arm. 

“Yep!” 

“So what exactly are we doing?” He asked as the two headed over to the tiny snack counter that was the source of the smell of popcorn, sickeningly sweet cotton candy, and pizza from where it was brought over from the place next door. 

“So Sam and I had the  _ best _ idea, well it was really my idea, he just encouraged me, so like, the two of us, along with you and Ant, what if we started a band together?” 

Skeppy’s eyebrows shot up, “wait really?” The two of them got into the short line in front of the counter. “Dude, you on bass, right? Then Sam on drums, and Ant on, uh, keys?” 

“We were hoping you’d agree to sing lead, and maybe play lead guitar as well?” 

“Bad I just want to say that this is the  _ best _ idea you have ever come up with, and that my answer is one hundred percent, yes.”

“Aw thank you.” Bad’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he bounced on his toes. “And that’s great to hear, we just have to hope that Ant’s on board too, but knowing him, I’m sure he will be. Ooh, we should make sure to get them something also.” 

The two of them got to the front of the line, and Skeppy placed an arm onto the counter, leaning forward. “Finn, four root beers, please.” The guy behind the counter looked at the both of them, his eyeshadow glinting in the neon lights of the roller rink.

“So you’re finally going on a date, huh?”

“Did Vurb get to all of you?” Skeppy practically shrieked. 

Finn snorted and pushed open the fridge below the counter, before putting four bottles on the table. “Have fun you two.” He winked suggestively. “But not too much.” 

“I think I’m going to strangle Vurb.”

Bad giggled as he grabbed two of them, heading back towards the exit of the building. “You know they’re just joking.” 

“They have a poster board in the break room with cut outs from magazines where they’re making a collage for our future wedding.” Skeppy gestured violently with the root beer as he pushed open the glass door back out to the parking lot. 

Bad whipped his head towards Skeppy, snorting with laughter. “What?” 

Skeppy let out a grumble in response as Bad unlocked the car door, and watched him tumble into the passenger seat. “Ughhhh I wanna quit soooo bad. It’s not them, it’s just the hours, and the smell, and ughhhh.” Bad just smiled and shook his head as he put the keys into the ignition. Skeppy lolled his head to the side, “why can’t I be boring like you and  _ like _ my job.”

“I’m not boring for liking my job, Skeppy.” Bad pulled out of the parking lot. “You just need to find something you like doing. I like working with my elementary school kids because they’re funny and creative, and to be honest, working with kids is a lot easier than working with adults.” 

“And it’s like the perfect gig too! Three hours after school everyday watching a bunch of snot-nosed brats for their parents.”

“Skeppy hey!” He flicked on his turn signal with a finger. “It’s actually a very rewarding job.”

Skeppy continued to ramble, counting off the pros on his fingertips. “No weekends, no bosses getting on your ass-”

“Language-”

“You even get to do fun crafts with them.” 

Bad took the moment to turn his head to Skeppy before looking back out onto the road. “Then why don’t you just apply through Southwood Elementary? I asked you when you needed a job, and I would recommend you so well that our supervisor would hire you, like,  _ immediately _ .”

“But I also, like, don’t want to deal with vomit and kids peeing their pants, and crying and stuff.”

“It is a downside-”

“And angry parents.”

“That too,” Bad held up a finger. “Not to mention sometimes having to stay late when parents run late, or having kids tackle you randomly, or-”

“You know what, I’m actually good working at the rink,” Skeppy slumped deeper into the seat. He was quiet for another moment before speaking up again. “Why can’t I work somewhere cushy like Sam, he just literally works making mods for people online, and gets paid like, gobs of money. Why can’t I do that?”

“Remember last time you asked Sam to try and teach you the basics?”

“Oh, yeah, dense and boring and takes a lot of work and care.” Skeppy let out a long, bored sigh. “Rink it is.” 

Bad chuckled, and repeated with a laugh. “Rink it is.” 

They pulled into Sam’s driveway to see the garage still open, the soft orange of the interior’s florcescents a guiding beacon even from down the street. Ant’s green hatchback sat on the road next to the sidewalk, and Bad parked behind it, stepping out into the darkening street. 

He and Skeppy started up the driveway, spotting Sam still sitting on the couch where he’d been when they’d left, but the books and laptop had been moved away, and he sat lounging and chatting with Ant. Ant sat across from him on the loveseat, legs crossed under him, still wearing his crisp white shirt and black pants from his uniform working at Cheryl’s, his black and white apron and cap piled onto the seat next to him. 

“I’m assuming the divorce proceedings have been resolved?” Ant asked with a grin. 

“Why does everyone joke about us being married.” Skeppy groaned, handing Ant one of the root beer bottles before sitting down on the arm of the love seat. 

“You aren’t?” Sam teased as he took the bottle from Bad, who stuck his tongue out before sitting down, next to him. 

“So Ant,” Bad braced himself as he opened the bottle with the corner of his shirt, “you in?” 

“Oh definitely.” Ant’s face warmed with a smirk. “Red told me that being in a band is like, super hot, and he totally wants to be our roadie.” 

“Aww,” Sam said following a sip of root beer. “I know I can drag Quackity and his ilk out for shows.”

“I’m sure I can tell Dream we’re playing a show and everyone will come following quickly.” Bad snorted, “You tell Dream, he tells Sapnap, Sapnap tells Karl, Karl tells Quackity, and Quackity tells literally everyone. He’s an interesting guy, Mr. Quackity.” 

“What’s so interesting about him?” Skeppy spoke up. “He just like, sells drugs, right?” 

“Well, yeah, but he also is sometimes super sincere and nice. He took me out for lunch once after I helped him through a really bad trip.” 

“Mm,” Skeppy nodded, turning his head. 

“Uh, so Sam, Ant, you two come up with anything while I was out?”

“Well,” Sam stood, “I dusted Fran off, got Ant a keyboard set up, and I set out the guitar for you Skeppy, and the bass is where you left it Bad. I think we should start somewhere simple, Bad, do you want to go through some of those chords you were playing earlier? I could lay down a backing, and we could just like riff for a while, get a feel for it?”

“Oh I like that,” Bad bent over to grab his bass. He stood in the middle of the room, looking out onto the empty street as he reached for some chords. Bad started with something that felt like the suburbs, empty but warm. There was a comfort in the way the driveway smelled, and the streetlights threw misty light onto the ground, and the sharp dichotomy of stepping outside in rainstorm on a balmy night, the ground warm beneath your feet by the rain cool on your skin, and he let his fingers find the notes that sprung from his mind. 

The crash of the drum set came in quiet at first, before Sam laid down a thumping beat, and a set that kept the tempo. It was the deep rumble of thunder, and the soft crash of a lightning strike, all muddled up in the thump of the pedal and the strike of a drumstick against a pair of high-hats.

Then came the soft testing plunk of the different types of keyboard sounds, before Ant landed on something halfway between synth, and the roaming tone of the pluck of an ethereal string on a guitar. It dug another layer into the sound, which wasn’t anything special yet, they were still feeling for what they wanted, but it felt like that final layer of clouds, dark and raging, but not yet falling onto the populous. 

Skeppy came last, the pluck and attempts of different notes, until it was like the melody clicked into his head. He picked out a pushing tempo, his fingers gentle but deliberate as he moved with the music. Skeppy opened his mouth and from it fell mumbled notes on his tongue, his brow furrowed as he faltered for a moment, before it crashed together all at once, like the sky cracking with lightning, the bolt falling at Skeppy’s throat as he pulled from it, tender lyrics.

_ Do you know that I’ve dreamt of you, I know I’m supposed to think it through and forget, but I can’t help but like the truth. Why was it easy to look you in the eyes. Because to my sweet surprise, I couldn’t lie, I couldn’t lie.  _

_ Not when it’s this, Not when it’s you. _

Skeppy stumbled through more on the spot, some of it profound, and other parts mumbled and broken rhymes that made them all giggle and nearly break the spell they’d created from their own hands. They played for almost two hours, it felt like maybe twenty minutes.

It was addicting, they all found.

Sam had peered inside to see his parents had gone to sleep, the perks of having a family who soundproofed their garage, and brought out a tiny sports cooler with some alcohol for them as they hung out to talk for a little longer. 

Bad scolded them all for drinking, opting for a diet coke, but they all gave their excuses for getting drunk, with Ant saying that Red was going to skateboard over anyway to come drive him home so they could hang out, while Skeppy would end up riding home with Bad, and Sam lived their anyway, so he could just stumble upstairs and crash. Ant and Sam had taken up most of the couch, with Ant laying his keyboard across his lap as he played random chords and notes, and had left the loveseat for Bad and Skeppy. 

“I actually really think we have something here.” Sam spoke up after they talked about their least favorite teacher list for the third time that month. “Like, we legit sounded good.”

“Yeah I thought so too,” Bad nodded, tucking his legs under him. 

“Skeppy you were spitting  _ bars _ too.” Sam chuckled, his face slightly warmed from the beer in his hands. “Did those just come off the top of your head, or have you been just writing song lyrics in your free time?”

“A bit of both,” Skeppy ran a hand through his hair. He seemed to fidget like that a lot when he was drunk, Bad noticed. “Sometimes I just think of stuff and it sticks in the back of my mind.” 

“Bars,” Sam slumped back into the couch. 

“Well, so we have a sound, we’ve got the group, all that’s left is a name,” Ant held his bottle in a hand. “Any suggestions?”

“Mean Green Machine,” Sam immediately suggested. 

“Uuh, no,” Ant furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Swaglords.” 

“Please no,” Bad groaned.

“Please  _ yes _ ,” Skeppy gasped.

“Rootin’, Tootin’, Shootin’ Boys.”

“So Sam is done suggesting names.” Ant looked between his friends earnestly as Sam thrust two fists into the air in apparent victory before letting them fall onto his face. “Anything?” 

“Mm, what about like, the Muffintiers?” Bad asked, head cocked to the side. 

“Isn’t that what your group chat with Dream, George, and Sapnap’s called?” Skeppy raised an eyebrow. 

“Well it still works.”

“What about, like…” Skeppy looked at Bad. “Like the Badlands.” 

“Oh,” Bad’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh I like that.”

“Cause like you came up with the idea, right? So it’s a slight homage to you, while also being a sick ass name.”

“Language, but ooh I really like that. Ant?” 

“Works for me,” Ant shrugged with a smile. “Sam?”

There was a sharp thumbs up thrust from the pile of limbs that Sam had become, apparently voicing his approval. 

Bad smiled, running a finger over a string of the bass guitar that lay on his lap. “The Badlands it is.” 


	2. Two

Bad’s eyes flicked up to his reflection in the rearview mirror, his fingers tapping on the rim of the door beneath the window of his car in time to the beat of the music. His sunglasses sat on the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them up just slightly as he waited in Skeppy’s driveway. Bad furrowed his eyes at his reflection in the mirror, noticing with a small smile, the tiny sticker that was stuck to the cuff of his jacket.

He’d been on his shift at his job at the after school program for elementary students, and must’ve forgotten to do a sticker check in the mirror before he’d left. Bad hummed along to whatever was playing on the radio, fingers already buzzing at the thought of getting to play. They’d been practicing for a few weeks now, getting their “sound together”, as Sam had called it. 

The Badlands were close to making their big break out onto the Southwood scene. Bad could already see it, a sold out show at the Pointlight, the town’s movie theater that had live concerts in the West wing on Sundays, signing autographs after the show, seeing people wear a t-shirt with their name on it. He had big plans, to say the least. 

The garage door shuddered to life in front of him, and he watched as Skeppy ducked underneath it, giving him a grin and a wave as he shut it behind him, before he practically fell into the passenger’s seat. 

“Hey.”

“Hey!” Bad put the car into reverse with a grin. “Ready for practice today?”

“I’ve got our songs under my belt, I can do my riffs in my sleep, and I’m already warmed up, so, hell yes, I’m ready.”

“Language,” Bad giggled, “and good. I’ve spent the past few hours with six to eleven year olds, so I’m a little tired, you’ll need to give me a minute to warm up.” 

“Good day or bad day?”

“Good day,” Bad headed towards Sam’s house. “Not too much to do, pretty quiet, got to hang out with my super awesome coworkers during snack break, so that was a plus.” 

“Ooh, does Mr. Baddicus Boye Aylo have a  _ cruuuuush _ ?” Skeppy drew out the word teasingly. 

“No!” Bad gripped the steering wheel. “And why do you insist on using that stupid nickname, I told you about it _once_ in middle school and you haven’t let it go since.”

“I think it’s cute!” Skeppy protested. “I mean, little you coming up with a name to use in your make-believe world, and you chose  _ Baddicus Boye Aylo _ .” 

“Well Aylo is  _ already _ my last name, and I thought the name Baddicus Boye sounded cool.” He stopped for a moment at the stop sign, looking quickly before continuing across the street. “Besides, I like Bad better anyway.” 

“...So back to the crush thing.” 

“Geppy I do  _ not _ have a crush on anyone.” Bad rolled his eyes.

“No one?” He could see that stupid expression on Skeppy’s face that meant he was gonna hate whatever came out of his mouth next. “Not even Quackity?”

“Why would you  _ say _ that?” Bad whipped his head between watching Skeppy break into goofy laugh, and trying to keep his eyes on the road. “Quackity and I are just really good friends, and I’ve just happened to help him through some stuff in the past.” 

“Didn’t you two go on a date the other week.” 

“ _ Aughhh  _ it wasn’t a date, he was paying me back for helping himmm.” Bad smacked his hands into the steering wheel. “And besides, he’s totally not my type.”

“Uh huh, right.” 

“Skeppy if I weren’t driving right now, I’d smack you.” 

“And not Quackity, on the lips?” 

“AUGHHHH SKEPPY.” Bad began flinging an arm towards Skeppy as he giggled like a madman, cowering into the corner by the door. Bad let out a long sigh. “You should really hear what he says when it’s the two of us out, he says the same things about you.”

“About me?” Skeppy squawked. “How far has Vurb sent the hive mind?”

“Pretty far apparently.” 

The two of them pulled into Sam’s driveway, where they got out in the same way they’d done tens of times now. Bad could hear the soft  _ thudda-thump-crash _ of Sam freestyling, and the  _ plink-plink-plonk _ of Ant moving through a chord. There was a laugh from inside, and they both walked through to see Velvet lounging on a couch, flipping through his phone.

Ant hadn’t been kidding when he said Velvet wanted to be their roadie, he’d been to some of their practices of late, sketching out designs for a logo while listening to them play. Though, Bad had noticed that Skeppy had been hesitant with Velvet there, his singing not quite as loud or firm as it was normally. It was funny to him to think that someone like  _ Skeppy _ could get nervous. 

“Hey guys,” Bad headed to the back to grab his bass, “are we jumping right into it today?” 

“I’d hope so,” Sam grinned as he drummed out a rhythm with his drumsticks. “We’ve gotta get as much practice in as possible.” 

Bad picked up the bass, slinging the strap around his shoulder, “oh, Ant, you’ve got work tonight, right?”

“I actually switched shifts with someone,” Ant played a chord with a thick reverberating vibrato, “so I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Just think it’d be good to get some practice in before later,” Sam’s smile grew even wider.

“Why?” Skeppy raised an eyebrow as he stood up from grabbing his guitar from its case. “What’s later?”

Sam gave them all a brief, mischievous, look. “It’s a surprise, and I think you’ll all really like it.” 

“Oh,” Bad shrugged. “Alright. Should we start with some quick warm ups? I’m gonna need a moment to get my fingers into gear.”

“Sure,” Sam nodded. “Then we head right into  _ Forests _ ?” 

There was the gentle hum of guitars being tuned, and riffs run through, and Ant making the weirdest noises with his keyboard possible to make Velvet laugh, before Sam began laying down the starting entrance for Forests, and the sound crashed together almost perfectly. There were the bass chords that rode low below the rest of the music, and the warm, but ethereal keyboard notes that settled towards the top, before Skeppy let himself in on guitar, and the musical mess started to sound like an actual song.

_ I walk through the mist after you, into that forest you guided me through, my fingers and toes are numb, but you walk on light feet, drunk on rum. I think it’s funny the promises you keep, and even better, when you break them in your sleep. Deep in your bones, yeah baby, you’re so fun, and damn baby don’t you make me wanna run, oh! _

Skeppy headed into his freestyle section, bobbing his head as his fingers flew across the frets, clean and electric stabs with his pick, making Bad giggle at the weird faces he’d make. He returned to the original pose, where the little microphone Sam had set up threw his voice through the speakers in the back. Skeppy leaned over it with a sharp passion, like he was singing to the mic itself. Bad flicked his fingers over the strings as he threw his head back with a grin.

_ Oh no! Now we’re running, and the dogs are at our feet, and I’m wonderin’ how the hell we came to meet, and I mean, we’re really quite a pair, I see the leaves all in your hair, and the blood all on your face, and oh, baby, what a disgrace. Alone in the forest for a trip, and now we’re all down to take a slip, down, down, down.  _

Bad raised his hand, his pick coming down hard as the song ended, leaving the audience with two long, reverberating chords, that he swore, shook the garage door above them. 

“Oh my gosh, that sounded so good,” Ant splayed his fingers over the keyboard. “That was, like, performance ready.”

“I don’t really know about that,” Skeppy rubbed the back of his neck, the guitar hanging over his shoulder.

“Well I only caught the tail end, and it was, fucking incredible.” A voice came heading up the driveway.

“Hey, language Mr. Quackity.” 

Quackity stopped at the line between the black top and the concrete of the garage, wearing a pair of grey jeans, a hawaiian shirt Bad swore he’d seen his dad wear before, a pair of sunglasses, and that beanie he always seemed to be wearing. “Fuck.” 

“LANGUAGE.” Bad yelped. “What are you even  _ doing _ here?” 

“Uh, surprise!” Sam lifted his drum sticks into the air sheepishly. “I invited a few people to come and listen in.” 

“You did what?” Skeppy exclaimed. “How many people?” 

“Oh!” Bad’s eyebrows raised. “Well that changes things, I thought Quackity was just being an annoying muffinhead.” 

“That really did sound amazing.” Niki appeared after Quackity, Puffy at her side, with her arm wrapped over her shoulder. 

“Oh thank you,” Bad smiled.

“You invited people to watch?” Skeppy said more softly. He picked at the strings of his guitar. 

“Well, we normally have Velvet here, so why not a few more?” 

“Right, right, I guess.”

Bad noted with furrowed eyebrows the change in expression in his friend’s face. He was about to pull Skeppy aside and ask, when more of their friends began to arrive, and he was swooped up in greetings, and hugs of hello, that he lost track of Skeppy completely. 

Techno and Wilbur arrived driving Phil’s car, while Eret came on their bike, complaining that Puffy and Niki had ditched them.

Sam chatted with Quackity, while Ant, Velvet, Niki, Puffy, and Wilbur piled on the couches. Bad happened to strike up a conversation with Techno, who despite looking tired, still spoke to him at length about the assigned novel for their english class through the nearby University. However, when drinks had been taken out of the fridge that sat just by the stairwell inside, and snacks had been provided ever so graciously by Sam’s mom, (who most of them knew anyway, Niki and Wilbur for vocal and guitar lessons, and Techno for Violin), and the group was ready to perform, Skeppy was nowhere to be seen. 

Bad hadn’t even seen him leave, and when he asked if anyone had seen him, they’d all shaken their heads. “I’m sure he’s just using the bathroom, he’ll probably be back soon.” 

Another ten minutes passed, not that most of the group seemed to notice, as they didn’t mind chatting with one another over listening to the Badlands play. It was precisely eight minutes later that Bad headed inside, passing the kitchen where he said hello to Sam’s younger sister sitting at the table doing homework, before making his way to the bathroom they all used when over for practice. 

The door was shut, and a light was on underneath it. He knocked softly, hearing, “someone’s in here!” from the other side, clearly said by Skeppy.

“Geppy it’s me.” He paused a moment. “Are you okay?” 

Skeppy didn’t answer for a moment, before he heard a quiet, “you can come in.” 

Bad turned the knob, stepping inside to find Skeppy sitting in the bathtub, knees pulled up against his chest. “Were you hiding in the bathroom?” He chuckled.

“Maybe,” Skeppy’s face was red. He picked at his sweatshirt. 

“Oh Skeppy, is everything okay?” Bad stepped over the side of the tub, sitting down in it next to Skeppy. “Is it someone out there?”

“No, it’s none of them, they’re all great, it’s just...it’s just me Bad.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Skeppy turned his head towards Bad. “Did I ever tell you the story about the time I performed in the school play in elementary school?” 

“I don’t think so. Was that before you moved to Southwood?”    
“It was,” Skeppy bit his lower lip. “My mom suggested I do the school play, because I was a  _ pretty _ energetic child, and she thought it would be a good idea to help me funnel all of it into something productive. I tried out, and it was fine, and they gave me a pretty big part, and it was fine when I was practicing, because it was just with the other people in the show, and the teachers, but then we got to the big performance day.” 

“Oh Skeppy…” 

“It went about as just as well as you’re assuming. I put on my costume, and marched out on stage to give my lines, and boom,” Skeppy gestured out with his hands. “I froze. I saw all of those people out there, and suddenly it all crashed down on me at once. The director literally had to carry me offstage.” 

“No-”

“Yep, aaaand then I went to the bathrooms, and uh, well I don’t really like the taste of McDonald’s cheeseburgers anymore.”

“I’m so sorry, Skeppy.” 

“It’s a funny story now, but I really...I overthink when I’m performing in front of people, and it’s easier when it’s with all of you, because I know you, and you’re all a part of the music, and I really trust all of you, but it’s just…” 

“Still scary?” 

“Yeah,” Skeppy nodded deeply. “That and...they’re my words Bad, I wrote all of our songs, and I just think that if I mess up, or make a mistake, or they don’t like them, I’d just freeze again, and I don’t want to freeze, and then think about it over and over again, and never want to play again, because I  _ really _ like making music with you guys-”

Bad took Skeppy’s hand in his own. “Skeppy, hey, it’s gonna be okay, and you wanna know why?” He rubbed his thumb against the outside of Skeppy’s own. 

Skeppy nodded slowly.

“Because I’m always going to be there for you, I’m gonna be right next to you that whole time, and if you look over at me, I’ll just give you the biggest, brightest smile, and even if you do freeze, I’ll catch you before you fall.” 

“Aw Bad,” Skeppy squeezed his hand. “Thank you.” 

Bad gave him a wink. “And besides, I’m a very tough judge of lyrics, and yours are some of the best I’ve ever heard.” 

Skeppy rolled his eyes, throwing Bad’s hand to the side, “ugh, you’re the worst.”

“Skeppyyyy.” 

“I’m kiddinggg, you’re the best.” Skeppy then wrapped him in a hug, which wasn’t exactly easy to do sitting down in a bathtub, but they made it work. 

“Are you ready?” Bad asked as he pulled away.

Skeppy stood on shaky legs, holding out a hand to help Bad up. “I think so.” 

The two headed back out to the garage where they were met with Quackity’s prying questions, and laughs from their friends, but Skeppy and Bad just slung their guitars over their shoulders as Ant and Sam got to their instruments.

Bad made sure that the cord was plugged into his bass, before letting out a chord that made Quackity shut up on impact. 

“How does  _ Blackout _ sound?” Skeppy turned to him, before looking to the others. 

“Sounds perfect,” Bad gave him a reassuring nod. “Ready?” 

Sam and Ant gave him a nod. “Ready,” Skeppy grinned.

Bad gave a count, lifted his hand, and the song exploded to life. 


	3. Three

Information traveled through the friend group  _ interestingly _ , mostly because it usually only took telling a few people in order for the updates to spread to everyone. 

On a Wednesday closing shift, Ant had approached his manager with a simple question, if they could maybe play a gig there some Friday night in the area towards the back of the restaurant. After some negotiations, and a few promises Ant really hoped he wouldn’t have to break, the Badlands were slated to perform their debut concert in a week’s time at eight pm. As he slung his apron over his shoulder, his car keys in one hand and his phone in the other, he sent a text off to the Badlands group chat. 

_ “Big news, set up a gig at Cheryl’s, next Friday, 8pm.” _

Sam was the first to see it, giving a little fist pump as he shot off a text to Quackity. It wasn’t long before it had reached Karl, who had been hanging out with Sapnap, who then texted George and Dream, who messaged Techno, who told his brothers, which culminated in Wilbur texting Niki, and Tommy texting Tubbo, Niki then texted Eret and Puffy, as Tubbo messaged Ranboo and Purpled, until the messages got so far through the grapevine, referenced through their main group chat, that everyone seemed to know.

The next Badlands practice session had them all buzzing with excitement, Ant talking rapid fire about everything his manager had told him, when they needed to set up, when they had to be done by, with Sam almost talking over him about how they’d get their equipment there, how many cars they’d have to take, and other smaller worries. Bad just grinned at the both of them, looking over to Skeppy every few seconds, who looked nervous, but put on a brave face when he caught Bad’s eye. In the middle of their squabbling and excitement, someone behind them cleared their throat. 

“Hey Bad, I got the thing from my friend.” Niki stood at the garage door with her hands on her hips. “I hope I’m not intruding.” 

“Ooh!” Bad’s eyes lit up as he headed across the room to her. “Is it done?” 

She dug around in her backpack before handing him a sheet of paper. “The final design, just like you asked, the digital copies are in an email I sent to you a few minutes ago.” 

“What is it?” Sam asked from where he, Ant, and Skeppy stood around near the couches. 

“A band logo, I had one of Niki’s artist friends online commission it for us.”

“Oh, sick.” 

Bad handed it over to Ant, who took a look at it, and raised his eyebrows. “This is really good. Niki can you send me that email too?” 

“Yeah, and please thank your friend, make sure that that tip was added on there.” 

“I know Sad really appreciates it,” Niki smiled warmly. “She said that she really enjoyed making the design, and that you were super easy to work with.” 

“Aww,” Bad beamed, “that’s so sweet of her.” 

“Super grunge,” Sam looked down at the design. “It’s perfect!”

Someone further down the driveway shouted something up to them. “Yo Niki, are we ready to go? We’re gonna be late for the movie!” Puffy and Eret sat on the back of Puffy’s motorcycle.

“Can’t keep them waiting,” Niki said with a wink. “Have a nice practice, and good luck on Friday, I know we’ll all be there to support you!” She jogged down the driveway and pulled on her helmet. 

“Be safe!” Bad shouted down to them as they jetted off into the night with the snarling grunt of the motorcycle coming to life. He turned back to the others, “alright,” he clapped his hands together, “practice time?” 

Friday came faster than any of them expected, Bad heading to work that day with a warmth in his chest as his eyes flicked to the clock much more than normal. He got off at about five, heading home to grab a bite to eat and take a quick shower before picking out his wardrobe for the evening. 

A white t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, a pair of black jeans with his chunky boots, and of course, his leather jacket. Very carefully, he put in a pair of contacts, leaving his glasses in their case, but tucking them into the bag he was bringing with just in case. Sam had taken the job of moving all of their equipment over, he’d been a percussionist for years, for regular band, the school’s marching band, and drumline, so carrying heavy equipment and instruments around was nothing to him. 

At about 6:30, Bad got into his car and started heading for Cheryl’s. The sun had begun to go down, and the barest warmth of streetlights cast shades of yellow and orange on the pink-tinted pavement. The restaurant always looked like a 50’s daydream during the evening, bright neon lights, and the shimmery decor, with records hanging on the walls. Bad parked his car in the slowly filling lot, smiling at the poster on the door, announcing, “ _ Tonight only! The premiere performance of the Badlands, 8pm!” _

The posters had been everywhere all over town that week, and Bad had no idea who’d even put them up. They’d just appeared on day, in the entrance to the town library, in the halls at the High School, along mainstreet, tagged on stop signs, stuffed into mailboxes, if the fellow Badlands had made them, they’d done a pretty good job of pretending they hadn’t. It still warmed his heart to see that someone cared enough about them to put up signs. 

As pulled open the door, there was that familiar diner smell, and his stomach grumbled, despite having made himself some mac and cheese less than an hour earlier. The food was mouth watering, and there wasn’t much stopping him from going up to the counter and ordering a tuna melt for after the show. Waiters in aprons, and waitresses in their uniforms buzzed from table to table delivering milkshakes and steaming burgers served upon paper patterned with Cheryl’s logo in black plastic diner baskets. 

At the very end of the restaurant, tables and chairs had been cleared away, and a platform that looked suspiciously like the band platforms from the high school had been constructed. A pair of speakers sat on either side, and the drum set, along with a few microphones had been set up. Bad crossed the room, spotting a pair of legs sticking out from underneath the platform. 

“Hey Sam how’s it going?”

There was a grunt as Sam pulled himself out from underneath the platform. “Just finishing setting up mics, Ant’s ‘backstage’,” he put up quotations. “Looking after our stuff with Velvet, we’re just waiting on you and Skeppy for sound check.” 

“Oh he must be running late,” Bad nodded, heading towards the curtain that had been hung over a small hallway that led to a back break room area and exit to the staff parking lot. Folding tables had been set up to hold wires and instruments, and places for them to store their things. Ant and Velvet hung out in the corner, their voices quiet, before they spotted Bad.

“Hour till showtime,” Bad said with a grin. “You ready Ant?”

“I think so,” he responded. “We’ve gotten everything down to a tee, and everyone’s gonna be here, so it’ll be exciting to say the least.”

Bad pulled out his phone to snap a quick picture to send to the group chat when his phone buzzed in his hand. There was a single text from Skeppy:

**Geppy:** Bad I’m freaking out

“Um, excuse me for a second guys,” Bad said as he headed back out into the main area of the restaurant. He texted Skeppy back quickly.

**Bad:** Oh my goodness, are you okay?

**Geppy:** I just started feeling horrible as soon as I got to Cheryl’s 

**Geppy:** My hands started shaking so bad I couldn’t pick up my guitar

**Geppy:** I just got on my skateboard and got as far away as I could until I my heart stopped pounding

Bad felt his stomach drop, as he ducked his head back into the back room.

**Bad:** Where are you? I’ll be on my way

“Hey guys, Skeppy ended up, uh, needing a ride, I’m gonna go pick him up and we’ll be back in a half an hour.” 

“Alright, sounds good,” Ant nodded. “Get back quick though, I think Sam wanted to do a sound check as soon as everyone got here, and he wanted everyone here a while ago.” 

“Right,” Bad grabbed his keys and headed out the back door. He hopped into his car in time to see a text come through from Skeppy.

**Geppy:** I made it to the park outside the quarry

_ Always the quarry _ , Bad thought, shaking his head. He turned his car on and jetted out of the parking lot, towards the local quarry. Bad had been there a few times, never usually for good reasons. 

It was nice with others, but alone, it was that sort of silent loneliness that could make someone go crazy. The place itself was located behind one of the local parks, though most parents wouldn’t willingly let their kids explore the quarry. The rock face was jagged and stones could slip out from under your feet easily, the water was deep in most places, but still shallow in others, an a single slip and fall could mean….

Bad really didn’t want to think about it.

He pulled his car into the park’s lot, his headlights illuminating a figure sat on one of the swings at the playground. Bad turned off the car and stepped out, letting his shoulders relax as he saw his friend’s head turn towards him, before turning back around to stare at the treeline. Quietly, Bad took a seat on the swing next to Skeppy, pushing himself back and forth as they sat in silence. 

“Hey.”

“How are you feeling?” Bad asked softly.

“Better, I’m still freaking out.” Skeppy crossed his arms over his body, almost hugging himself. “I saw the sign for it, and I remembered how many people were going to be there, and I just…” 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me why, I understand.”

“It’s worse than I thought, Bad. I’m always this open, get up and go guy, but in reality, I’m terrified. I’m always so scared about what people will think about me, and...well I came here.” 

Bad leaned forward to better catch his eye. “I can cancel if you want, tell them that we have to reschedule, say that you felt sick.” 

Skeppy’s head whipped towards him. “Didn’t you tell the others?”

“About what?”

“That I freaked out, and that you were coming here get me?” 

“I just told them that I went to go pick you up. Figured you didn’t want me telling them your personal stuff.” 

“Bad… “

“Geppy I care more about your wellbeing than I care about this performance, I mean, it’s cool and all that we have a band, and we’re actually performing, but you didn’t have a say in whether you actually wanted to perform in front of a big crowd like this, or even if you felt ready for it, so I’m not going to push you to do something that scares you like this.” 

“Dude, I love you, you know that?” 

“Yeah,” Bad grinned sheepishly, “I do.” 

His smile faded slowly, but the barest bit of warmth on his face remained. “You’ll be there the whole time right, even if I freak out?”

“I’ll hold you like a human weighted blanket,” Bad chuckled, before adding, “but only if you want me to.” 

Skeppy giggled, “sure, sure.”

“I’ll be there the whole time, I’ll make sure Sam puts me right next to you, and you can look at me when you start to feel nervous, like before.” He paused a moment. “Just know your limits, okay? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable and terrified up there, okay? If you need a break, just tell me, and I’ll make sure we call an intermission. You can even stand outside, alone, if you want.” 

“Or maybe just me and you,” he murmured, “somewhere where I can just look at you and center myself for a moment, just pretend it’s you and me and Sam and Ant in the garage.”

“That sounds like something I can do.” 

Bad stood, and held out his hand. Skeppy took it, and was pulled to his feet and into a hug. “For good luck,” Bad said softly into his ear. 

Together they walked side by side to the car, falling into it like they always did. Bad checked them time, glad to see that it was almost seven, and they wouldn’t get in  _ that _ much trouble with Sam. They arrived right on time, spotting a few familiar bikes and skateboards chained to the bike rack, and upon heading it, spotted some of their friends piled into one of the booths. 

“There’s our big stars,” Puffy said with a loud laugh. “Are you guys nervous?”

“More than you’d know,” Skeppy let out a breath. 

Dream turned from where he sat across from Puffy to look at them better. “I know you guys are gonna do super good, and I made sure everyone could be out to support you guys. Even if some of them show up late.”

“Quackity?” Bad raised an eyebrow.

“He’ll try his best, I’m sure,” Karl spoke up. Sapnap snorted next to him with laughter. 

“We should probably actually get up to the stage, I know Sam wanted a mic check like pronto.” Bad took Skeppy by the fabric around his elbow and pulled him to the stage. All of their things had been set up, and as they ducked backstage, Sam and Ant stood together chatting.

“Hey guys, we’re here.” 

“Oh finally,” Sam turned around. “Let’s get that sound check started up.”

The four of them headed out onto the stage, much to the surprise of some of the patrons, as Velvet began helping them with mics and testing levels. The process took almost a half an hour, and at that point, people had already started arriving for the concert. 

At first it was mostly just their friends, who loitered around for a while, before other people started showing up, some of their fellow classmates, a few teachers, and some others they didn’t recognize.

Ten minutes before showtime, they headed together backstage as Sam finished setting up the lights. Skeppy fiddled with his guitar, and Bad noticed that his hands were steady. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Skeppy nodded. “Better now that I know you’re here.”

“All warmed up?”

“I think so.”

Bad nodded, “now’s the long wait.” 

Sam ducked inside, “five minutes y’all.” 

“Or not so long,” Skeppy’s voice shook. 

Bad let his guitar hand from the strap around his waist and put his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “You’ve got this. I believe in you, you heard Dream! We’re gonna absolutely kill this, and then go over to Dream’s for a really fun afterparty.” 

Skeppy looked up into Bad’s eyes, pressing his lips together. “Okay. I’ve got this. We’ve got this.” Bad pulled his arms off, and Skeppy stepped forward to peer out through the curtain, pulling back. “There are  _ so _ many people out there.” 

Bad felt a hand on his back, looking back to see Ant pressing him forward. “It’s showtime,” he said in a whisper. Sam was close behind, holding his drum sticks. 

Together, the four stepped up onto the stage, taking their places. Bad plugged his bass into, the crunchy  _ thunk _ into the hum of the speakers was music to his ears. He could feel his adrenaline starting to race. He watched as Skeppy puffed out his chest, before stepping forward towards the mic. 

“Um, hello Southwood.” His voice echoed throughout the restaurant. There was a sudden cheer from the crowd, and Bad watched as Skeppy’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “We’re the Badlands, and we’re here to play some music for you tonight.” Another cheer went up, and Bad spotted Quackity sitting on Sapnap’s shoulders in the back row, his hands cupped over his mouth as he shouted along with the crowd. 

“Uh, I’m Skeppy Fallah, on guitar and vocals,” there was a roaring round of cheer and applause. “We’ve got Ant Frost on keys,” Bad heard Velvet wolf-whistle in the crowd. “There’s Sam Audaude on drums,” Quackity let out an equally loud wolf-whistle, “and the beloved Bad Aylo on bass.” A secondary Quackity generated wolf-whistle, followed by an  _ “I LOVE YOU BAD BOYE AYLO!” _ , that made Bad roll his eyes so hard he swore they went into the back of his head. 

Skeppy flicked his eyes back to Bad with a smirk, who rolled his eyes again while waving a hand. Bad was more happy to see the suddenly very giddy expression on Skeppy’s face as he turned back to address the crowd. He leaned into the mic, “you guys ready for some music?” 

The sound from the audience was deafening.

Skeppy launched into the opening riff of  _ Sunset Maryland _ , and Sam was quick to follow suit. The music meshed not quite as well as it did in the garage at first, all of them trying to find their sound in a new space, but by the chorus, all of them had found it again.

_ Sunset, sunset in Maryland, I wanna see you again. Oh, honey isn’t it funny, on the boardwalk talking the hard talk, I wanna dance with you, I wanna dance with you, and lose myself in the sunset money _

The crowd cheered, Skeppy leaned into the mic, and the night became a whirlwind of the music of the Badlands. Bad didn’t even think he saw Skeppy falter once, his eyes bright with excitement as he leaned back to give him a wink after every set.


End file.
